


Beautiful Soul

by asimpleword



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Self Harm, Septiplier - Freeform, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:11:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimpleword/pseuds/asimpleword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack wasn’t sure what brought it on. Maybe it was the aching loneliness he felt each and every day when the house was quiet. Maybe it was the day his parents turned him away for being bisexual. Maybe even before that, when he admit to having depression and anxiety before being told that it wasn’t real. It was all in his head and he needed to straighten up before he got in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Soul

Jack wasn’t sure what brought it on. Maybe it was the aching loneliness he felt each and every day when the house was quiet. Maybe it was the day his parents turned him away for being bisexual. Maybe even before that, when he admit to having depression and anxiety before being told that it wasn’t real. It was all in his head and he needed to straighten up before he got in trouble.

His mother spent her time either looking down into the rim of a bottle, or was just gone. No explanation, no warning. She just left for hours and didn’t tell where or when she was going. His father, on the other hand, worked a lot. When he wasn’t working, he was sleeping, drinking, and staring at the tv all day. Jack did all the housework, often littered in bruises and various injuries.

Jack was left to take care of himself, was expected to do so. He wasn’t taught how to cook properly, or how much to feed the dog, he had to figure everything out on his own. His parents just never seemed to care. They were shadows of their former, happier selves. Jack didn’t know what happened to them. They just rot away to reveal what was underneath the whole time.

But never among those things was self harm. He’d never picked up a blade and held in his own fingers. He’d never pressed it to tender, unmarked skin. He’d never felt such a powerful distraction on purpose: pain. Sure, it stung when he fell and scraped his hands and knees or when he knocked his head on something. But he’d never inflicted any injuries upon himself.

So, when he’d moved on and gotten his own place and started fresh, he didn’t know why he started. He thought he’d be happier and healthier. But the deeply embedded sadness stayed. His bones still ached and his chest still swelled with the overwhelming sensation of loneliness. He was happy, for a short time. But it didn’t last. He didn’t have real life friends. He didn’t have family. He had no one but a camera and his computer. His saving grace.

Doing YouTube saved him from a lot of things. But not all of them.

He couldn’t force himself to stop cutting. It took away the memories with promises of painful distractions. When he did, he couldn’t focus on anything else but the pain. He felt so relieved afterward. It made the heavy burden on his shoulders that much lighter, his footsteps that much easier, his memories that much more distant. At least for a little while.

It wasn’t like he was out of control. He handled himself just fine. He knew how deep was too deep, he knew what wasn’t good enough to relieve the pain. And he knew how to properly treat the wounds. He was just fine. He didn’t need help. He didn’t need anyone to hold his hand even though he really wanted them to.

Jack was twenty four. He had over thirteen years of sadness under his belt. Nothing was stopping him from ending it all but himself. Strangely, he didn’t want to. He had people who looked up to him, people he admired and people who helped him push through the rougher times even if they didn’t know it. He’d be damned if he left them behind.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. Maybe to be held for the first time, to be kissed and told he was worth something. That he made a difference. That he mattered. He wanted someone to wake up to in the morning other than cold empty sheets. He wanted someone to get some sense into his head. Convince him to finally put down the blade. Someone to tell him that he was more than a useless waste of space. That he could stop cutting because they were going to be there every step of the way.

He wasn’t sure how he’d made it this far.

Possibly, it was the fact he was too cowardly or was waiting for the right person to show him real love for the first time. He just knew, he knew someone out there had to be able to pull him out of the trench he’d been buried in nearly his whole life. Someone who could teach him what it was like to feel anything other than agony and heartbreak and loneliness.

He didn’t know when they would come. Whether it would be a few months, or a few years. He just wanted someone to call his own. He would wait decades for them if that’s what it took.

It only took two years after he’d started uploading to YouTube to find someone that really, truly meant something to him. Well, maybe less than that. Because he’d looked up to the guy even before he started his career. He was the only person who got through to him. Who made him feel like he existed when if he didn’t even know Jack did in the first place.

He didn’t know how Mark Fischbach did it.

He didn’t know how he managed to squirm his way into Jack’s broken and damaged heart and fix it again. He was that shining beacon of hope in a world that was consumed by darkness for far too long. He put a real, genuine smile on Jack’s face when it had been fake for the longest time.

He even made Jack laugh. It was weird to hear his own laughter in the quiet of the house. When he was recording, sure. Laughing without really being happy was easy. He’d done that for as long as he could remember. But when he threw his head back and really laughed for what felt like the first time, that was something that surprised Jack himself.

And when Mark stepped up and asked if he wanted to collab, Jack had felt that overwhelming feeling in his chest again. This time, it was different. It was joy and disbelief and giddiness all at once. And he accepted the offer with an enthusiastic yes.  
That was two years ago. He’d started feeling happy two years ago.

So why was he starting to feel…worse? He was at the highlight of his career, he was traveling to America to see Mark again, he had internet friends that cared immensely about him. So why did he suddenly feel the urge to cut again? Why were those dark thoughts seeping through? Why was he so lonely?

He’d never gotten rid of his blade. Just incase he needed it. The last time that blade had sliced through pale skin was two and a half months ago, besides that morning. It was still something he couldn’t stop. It was an instinct to turn to the blade when his depression got the best of him. And yet no one knew. Not a single person in his life knew what happened behind closed doors.

And he didn’t plan on telling.

\- - -

America was a lot different than Ireland, Jack decided, as he settled into his and Mark’s hotel room. They decided to share in order to make things easier. Jack didn’t mind. He thought, maybe, it would help with the loneliness and curb his need to unpack his old blade. He’d already used it that morning for the first time in months, but he couldn’t stand the itch to use it once more. He couldn’t use it while he shared a room with Mark. That was too risky. There was too big a chance he would see, or find out one way or another.

Mark had gone down to get ice when Jack finally settled onto his bed and stared down at his hands. The same hands that raised in defense at quick movements, that were often bruised and bleeding as a child.

The same hands that had held his only escape from his misery. His blade. It was a simple, small razor blade. But it meant more to him than it should. It carved nasty scars into his arms and washed the memories away temporarily.

He tugged the sleeves of his hoodie up and looked over the the scars on his arms, the fresh cuts from that morning. They were raised, rough lines. Some were jagged and flat, and some were clean slashes. Some were faded and old. Others were darker and more recent. They covered every inch of the underside of his arms and littered his thighs. Ugly marks Jack couldn’t decide if he loved or hated. They were countless, large and small, thick and thin. Going in different directions, and some curved along the side of his wrist. He couldn’t help staring at them in morbid fascination. He fiddled with his fingers and wondered what his arms would look like clean of ugly scars.

A sudden shocked inhale, and something crashed loudly to the floor. Jack jumped so suddenly he felt dizzy. He pulled his sleeves down on instict, and whipped his head toward the door, eyes wide.

Mark stood, hands open by his sides. The small pail of ice had slipped from his grip, spilled all over the floor on it’s side. His expression was one Jack would never forget. Bewilderment, fear, and sorrow shone clear in his widened eyes.

“Jack,” He stopped, unsure of what to say, and Jack’s breath hitched in his throat at the sadness in his eyes.

“M-Mark I-” He stuttered, his heart pounded wildly and his blood rushed in his ears. No one was supposed to know. Especially Mark.

“Why?” He croaked, took a step forward cautiously and Jack froze. His eyes welled with unshed tears, and Mark’s looked suspiciously shiny.

“I just- I don’t know.” He couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t bring himself to admit why. He didn’t want to dig back into the pile of suppressed memories yet. Mark crossed the room and crouched in front of him, forearms rested across his legs.

“Jack.” Blue eyes met dark brown, and Jack swallowed hard.

“Why?”

He couldn’t meet Mark’s eyes any longer, and dropped his gaze to his lap instead.

“I have depression. Since I was about eleven. Me pa and ma left me to fend for meself, made me do the housework, and take care of meself before I was even ten. They didn’t talk to me, or spend time with me. They’d hit me, if I stepped outta line. Lock me in the closet afterwards and forget to get me out until the next mornin’.”

He tried to breathe, felt strangled. Mark placed a gentle hand on his knee in reminder he was there and nodded for him to go on.

“I didn’t have friends. No one wanted to be friends with the weird loud kid that looked like he got his clothes from the dump. I didn’t have extended family either. I was in my room unless I was cleanin’ or cookin’ or doing chores. There was a lot of verbal abuse, more than physical. But there was a lot of both. It was always out of my control and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

He took a ragged breath, and Mark looked only understanding, patiently wait for him to continue with a pat to his leg. Jack didn’t bring up how it stung his recent cuts.

“Ahm, when I was eleven, I tried to tell them I had depression n’ anxiety. They told me, t-told me it was all in me head. That I would get in trouble if I didn’t straighten up. When I was fourteen, they turned me away completely when I admit I was bisexual.” He paused to fiddle with his sleeve and took a tentative glace at Mark. His expression had only gotten more concerned. But there wasn’t a hint of judgement.

“The abuse got worse after that. They didn’t even consider me human after that. But I never thought about self harming. Not until- until I’d moved out. All my life I’d been hurt and mistreated beyond my control. My depression got the best of me. And I figured it would make me feel better. And it did, even if it was temporary. It made me feel like I finally had a choice for once, like I was in control of my pain. No one else. And now I can’t stop. It’s like an addiction, I have to do it. My hands shake, a-and it drives me crazy. It’s…it’s just something I have to do every once in a while. Not all the time, jus’ when I’m feelin’ really down.”

Jack couldn’t seem to stop his leg from jittering, movements sharp and aborted like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He still hadn’t found the courage to look at Mark again. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and fought the stinging feeling behind his eyes. It was weird and uncomfortable to know that someone else knew everything. Had heard his story, and seen the scars, even if just for a moment. But at the same time he felt lighter on his feet already. Relieved, in a way. He didn’t have to hide from Mark anymore.

“Can I see?” Mark asks, hands outstretched toward him, and Jack’s eyes flickered to meet his. He could only nod in response. His voice was lost in his throat.

Gentle hands pushed his sleeves up past his elbow, warm fingers turning his arms to reveal their hideous secret. Jack had nearly forgotten about the cuts from that morning. Mark took both hands in each of his own, mouth twisted sadly. It was obvious he was holding tears at bay.

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he bowed his head and placed feather light kisses up each arm. He took his time, running his fingers over rugged uneven skin. Jack’s initial reaction was astonishment; though it wasn’t an unwelcome gesture, he only felt infatuation and a small burst of joy. It was a simple, small thing. But to Jack it was the kindest and most meaningful thing anyone had ever directed at him.

“I-I promise you, if you’ll let me, I’ll help. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you stop this. Because this- this isn’t…it’s not healthy. I don’t want you to feel so unhappy you get to the point you need to do this, okay? I care about you. A lot more than I should but I care about you and it would kill me if I knew you were doing this without telling me.”

His voice was shaky, full of emotion; it was something Jack had never heard so strongly before. He hadn’t looked away from Jack once the whole time he’d talked. It was strange to know he cared. But a good strange.  
“Okay,” He whispered, suddenly drained and exhausted, and Mark sighed softly.

“I mean it.” He gave a pointed look, and Jack’s mouth twitched upwards in a hint of a smile despite his heavy, puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

“So do I,” Jack sniffed. Mark reached up and gently thumbed away his tears. Jack’s face heated, and he blinked at Mark bashfully. His hands were shaking, still encased in Mark’s. It was so intimate and private. He couldn’t help but be nervous. But at the same time he loved having Mark so close.

“Promise me you’ll at least try to stop?”

Jack pursed his lips. He didn’t want to. But, perhaps, Mark could help. Mark did help, he’d helped Jack with much more than he knew. What he’d told him was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I don’t really want to. But, I’ll try.”

Mark’s mouth slowly turned upward.

“That’s all I ask. As long as you’re trying. You can call me or text me at any time, okay? Whatever you need. I don’t want to see any more of these.”

“You might not want to see me legs then.” He admitted, voice a whisper.

Mark’s eyes saddened.

“Jack…” He sounded disappointed. Everyone was always disappointed in him.

“There’s only t-two new ones, though. The rest are months old.” He croaked, afraid of what the man in front of him would think. He balled his hands in fists and clenched his jaw. Mark sensed his unease.

“That’s okay. You’re good. You’re golden. I’m not upset.”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Mark I-” He couldn’t keep his voice steady, tears slid down his cheeks and blurred his vision once more and his heart pounded hard in his chest. He didn’t know why he was so upset at the thought of Mark being disappointed in him, why it mattered so much. It made him suddenly horrified of his own actions.

“Hey, no. Don’t be upset. You’re just fine. I’m not mad. We’ll work on it, okay? You’re perfect. Fuck- please don’t cry Jack. You’re breaking my heart here. It’s alright, I promise.”

“Is it?” He sniffed, bit his lip hard.

“Yes, it’s perfectly alright. We’ll work on it, okay? It just takes time. As long as you don’t do it again. Even then I won’t be upset. I know how hard this is gonna be for you.”

“O-okay,” All he could do was nod and take a deep breath.

There were a few moments of quiet, save for their breathing and Jack’s sniffling.

“Stay with me?” He asked.

“I am staying with you, you doof.” Mark replied.

“I meant- I meant in my bed. I don’t want to be by myself.”

“Okay,” Mark agreed without a second thought. Jack was practically bursting with joy at the agreement. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

“Thank you. For, all of this really. I didn’t think anyone cared much anymore.”

“Of course I care. You mean a lot to me, Jack. I hate knowing you went through this all alone. If I’d known…”

“You weren’t supposed to know.” Jack sighed. “I didn’t want anyone to know because I thought they’d judge me.”

“Well, now that I do, I can help you through this. Eventually you can look back and say ‘I used to do that’ instead of ‘I still do’. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m gonna be here every step of the way.”

Jack bit back a smile.

“I really appreciate it. You have no idea how much it means to me that someone cares. That you’re willing to be there for me. No one’s ever even given me a second glance.”

“They should have. I’ve never met anyone who’s wormed their way into my heart faster than you have.”

“Same goes for you.” He chuckled weakly. “You’re a persistent bastard.”

“That I am.” Mark laughed, and Jack loved how they slipped right into their usual banner easily.

Jack yawned, covering his face with the back of his hand in the process. He was exhausted after everything that had happened. Content and ecstatic, but exhausted.

“It’s late. You ready for bed?” Mark stood, and looked down at him. Jack shivered and nodded again.

“Yeah, I’m tired as shit.”

As he pulled off his jeans, he felt eyes on him and turned his head to see Mark, already in his pajamas, staring at him. More specifically, his thighs. There were horizontal, flat scars that contrasted and crisscrossed along his skin. He pressed his mouth in a thin line and pulled an old sleep shirt over his head. He’d forgotten about hiding them.

“Those are the only other scars I have from self harm. I know they’re not…attractive.” He exhaled quietly.

Mark crossed the room rather quickly and stopped in front of him.

“They don’t make you any less beautiful. I think you’re perfect just the way you are. You may not like them, but I think they show how strong you are. That you fought your own mind and you won. They have a meaning behind them. You, Jack, couldn’t be any more perfect than you already are.”

Hot tears pooled in his eyes and he didn’t bother to stop them.

“Really? I mean, you're not just saying that?”

“No. I really, really mean it.”

“O-okay,”

“If you don’t feel comfortable sleeping in just this, you can put pajama pants on. Or borrow a pair of my gym shorts. But you don’t have to hide them either.”

“No, that’s okay. I trust you.”

Mark blinked, and then one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.”

They both climbed under the thick covers of the hotel bed and snuggled close, bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces. One of Mark’s legs slid over Jack’s, the other between them. Jack buried his face into Mark’s chest, grin uncontrollable. He felt nothing but adoration and love for the man he was entangled with.

“Okay?” Mark whispered.

“Definitely okay.” He whispered back.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't really remember why I wrote this one. It was more to vent, than anything else.


End file.
